Velle
by Screech Owl
Summary: Nick deals with feelings for sixteen-year-old Cassie. Contains language and slight smut.


**A/N: **Part of me is thinking, erm, it was wrong just to write this. I do think there was at least something on Cassie's side during the movie, and the potential for romance was definitely there, so I decided to try to make it work from Nick's perspective. The ages here are 16 and 26, and the title, Velle, is Latin for to wish or to be willing.

**Disclaimer: **Push is a copyrighted film that is the property of Summit Entertainment. This story was fan-written for no profit and no infringement is intended.

* * *

She's been showing those legs for years, so it shouldn't bother him when she skips out of the bathroom dressed in a tubetop and shorts that end at her navel. They've been sharing hotel rooms for the last three years; Cassie and her legs are nothing he hasn't seen before. But for some reason, seeing Cassie with her hair done up and wearing those tiny shorts makes him a little angry.

She's all ready to brush past him with only a "Later, Nick," but he grabs her arm and coughs and asks her, "Whoa, where're you going?"

And in typical Cassie fashion she rolls her eyes and says, "Um, to see Mako. Remember, my friend Mako, the Shifter, the reason we're in Calgary?"

"Yeah. I thought we were meeting him tomorrow."

She flips her hair over her shoulder – all traces of pink grew out ages ago – and tells him, "We are. I'm just seeing him tonight, too. Got a problem?"

He raises his eyebrows and coughs again. "Nope."

With that, she turns on the heel of her shiny silver pump, and walks the length of the hotel room and out the door. He stares after her legs until he realizes what he's doing. Then he feels disgusted with himself. _Sixteen_, he thinks, _she's just a kid_.

--

This becomes his mantra over the next few months. They're still traveling, trying to meet up with others and find out as much as they can about Division. But she still finds time to dress up and go out, because as Cassie loves to say, "You gotta have fun sometimes, or else you'll go crazy. Kinda like the way you were in Hong Kong."

So whenever she turns out in minidresses or shorts that are somehow even shorter, he chants the same words. _Sixteen, only sixteen. You're ten years older than her for Christ's sake_.

She is fully aware he hasn't truly enjoyed himself since they parted ways with Kira two years ago in New York. _So what?_ he tells himself. He sits in their room and watches television and drinks, and she dresses up and goes out. He wonders where she goes in cities they have no contacts in, but he never asks and anyway it's not his place to tell her she can't go somewhere.

--

One night she stumbles back completely wrecked and reeking of gin. He gets up because after all, she is only a kid and one of the things he hates most is Cassie when she's drunk. It's a huge pain – mostly she acts stupid and irritable until it wears off enough for him to get her to bed. But this time, something is different.

This time, she comes toward him with a very strange look on her face.

Without knowing how it happened, he realizes she's straddled in his lap with her warm mouth pressed against his. He gasps. His body responds before he can stop himself; he kisses her back, and his hand roams over her thigh and grips whatever little lace thing she's wearing.

But the back of his mind yells, _Sixteen!_ And he groans, struggling to master his will enough to break away and say, "Cassie, wait – "

"Shh," she says, half-whisper, half-slur. Her hand strokes his forehead, her touch light and enticing, and then she swoops down on him again. Lips soft and sweet and even more eager. . .

_Sixteen, you fucking asshole! What the hell are you doing?!_

But she won't stop, and he doesn't want her to. She's wrapped all around him and her thumb moves along his earlobe and _fuck_, one of those smooth legs wraps around his waist.

It's such a massive effort to push her away and tell her firmly, "No."

"I know you want to," comes her breath in his ear. It's a heady rush and he can hardly think through the thick haze of desire. But he gets his head together, summons every force of will in him, and pushes her away with more than just his arms. She lands in the far corner and gives a cry of pain, and he stays frozen on the edge of the bed.

It's the one and only time he's hurt her.

A "humph" comes from the floor, whether sob or exasperation, he doesn't know. He already feels like too much of a dick to know anything.

--

Another morning, another greasy diner. He swallows his coffee without looking at her. Across the table, the plastic crackles as she fiddles with her empty aspirin packet.

"Did it happen?" she asks, watching his reaction through puffy eyes. "I saw that it would but I can't remember if it did."

He doesn't blink. "What are you talking about?"

* * *

**A/N: **So that conclusion I promised turned out to be like, three sentences long. It's a weird ending but I feel like it works. Reviews are love.


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